A Knight and his Liege
by ChocolateConfectionaries
Summary: On his deathbed, a king calls for his loyal knight one last time.


The heavy oaken door creaked open, revealing a simple room. Sunlight shone from a windowpane on the far end, the chamber otherwise illuminated by numerous candles - from a chandelier, on the ground, atop candelabra placed on every other empty space. Wisps of smoke from burning incense and burning wax permeated through the room, the air cloy with their mingled scents. A table laid on the center, bountiful with fruits and meats, from the mundane to the exotic; goblets of fine wine and other beverages; and many a stack of parchment.

On the side rested a bedridden old man. As the door closed shut, he turned towards the new arrival.

"Ah, Jaune! Good to see you," he greeted.

Chainmail and iron plate clinked and clattered with Sir Jaunathane's every step, before he stopped in front of the king and knelt.

"I made haste as soon as I received your summons, Your Majesty," the knight uttered with obeisance. "Have you need of me at this time?"

"Jaune, please," his liege-lord rasped, "I have no need for pageantry from my loyal knights, you least of all. Raise your head, man!"

Jaune raised his head.

"And stand up!"

He stood up.

The old man sighed wearily. "I will never convince you to do away with that habit of yours, will I?"

"For as long as you shall reign, Your Majesty," his Knight replied, lips almost creased in a smile.

As quickly as it came, all jollity disappeared from Jaune's liege-lord. His grin turned wan, then faded away as he seemingly deflated into the many cushions on top of the mattress.

"That won't be for long, I fear."

Jaune's eyes widened at his pronouncement, a crack in his stoic visage.

"Your Majesty, surely-"

A raised hand, wrinkled and frail, compelled him into silence.

"I know the signs, Jaune," he began. "With every passing day I lose blood, weight and strength aplenty. Breathing has become a challenge, rather than an afterthought. Where I once carried armor, lance, shield and sword into battle, now 'tis the strength of Hercules for me to walk upright, or to lift a goblet of water.

He closed his tired eyes. "Consumption can disrupt the balance of the humors forever, Sir Jaunathane. Not a man in mankind's storied past has survived its ravages."

Jaune's sullen gaze landed on the old man himself. He had forsaken his bejeweled regalia in favor of a simple nightdress and cap, keeping only the signet ring on his left hand. Faded red spots marred the plain linen surface, rising and falling to brief, shallow breaths. His gaunt face lacked any sign of restful sleep; on the contrary, his was sickly and pallid, with heavy bags of purple underneath the eyes.

He bit back a sigh upon seeing the deplorable state of his liege. Once a tall, jolly, giant of a man who had fought the world and triumphed against all odds, now merely a bloody heap of bone and withered fat. Felled by neither hubris nor sin, but by a malaise that cared little for riches, faith, or for renown - all of which he had a thousandfold.

The knight struggled to wrap his head around this injustice. Had His Majesty not forged a mighty empire out of centuries of ash and strife, all for the glory of the Lord? Vanquished His foes, wherever they may be? Attended to his family, his vassals, and his people like a loving father, and spent lavishly on the poor and the needy? If the good were truly rewarded, then why had God yet to intervene before his liege chokes on his own blood?

"You must be having a crisis of faith, Jaune," the old man in question remarked with a wry grin. Half-lidded eyes enjoyed his conundrum.

He had the good sense to look away. "That may be so…"

Weak, yet mirthful chuckles left Jaune's liege to resound through the confines of the room. As usual, Jaune's liege-lord poked fun at his devotion. This time the knight's sigh was loud and lengthy, partly out of irritation and partly out of relief - he had, after all, eased His Majesty of some duress.

"In any case," Jaune said as the laughter died down, "I shall keep watch outside until the courier returns, Your Majesty. By your leave."

He began to turn around when his liege spoke up.

"That will not be an issue, Jaune." After a moment's consideration, he continued, "Have a seat over by the table. Feel free to take whichever suits your fancy."

Jaune complied without hesitation, moving over to an empty seat. Out of respect for the old man's appetite, he chose not to partake in the offered meals, however delectable they may be.

Yes, even the sweetmeats. Discipline is key to knighthood, in theory if not as much in practice.

"I can see you staring at the sweetmeats as though they were a buxom wench, Jaune."

He wisely kept silent at having been caught red-handed.

A withered groan left his liege's lips. "Must I order you to enjoy a simple treat?"

Jaune was about to protest, before he pursed his lips in contemplation.

"Oh, for the love of- Just get one! Have a bite or two."

Having been granted permission, the knight swiftly acquired one of the small cakes, generously coated in syrup and flour. And another one. And a third. One of his gauntleted palms soon found itself home to four of the baked foodstuffs. He stuffed two in his mouth, carefully grinded them to mush in exactly one bite, then swallowed.

"Well?" his liege questioned. "How do they taste?"

"Delectable, Your Majesty," he replied truthfully, the other two already halfway through his gullet. "As expected of the palace baker."

"Never mind that," His Majesty waved off, "how do they _taste_? Were they sweet?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"How soft?"

"Balancedly soft and rigid, Your Majesty."

"And the texture?"

"Smooth on the palate, Your Majesty."

"Will you ever cease punctuating your words with 'Your Majesty', Jaune?"

The knight smiled slightly. "I think not. Your Majesty."

His Majesty gave a weary smile of his own. They've had this sort of conversation many times now - one suggestive, the other unyielding, both equally obstinate. Had it truly been years since they conversed like so?

"You have always had a fondness for sweets, Jaune," he recalled. "Why, I remember chancing upon you shoving fistfuls of them when you were but eight winters of age!"

The knight grumbled in annoyance. "I am two and thirty now, Your Majesty. I believe I have learned temperance since."

"Two and thirty?!" his liege exclaimed, his voice no longer a commanding boom but a raspy cough. "God, how the days pass. Here you are, at the prime of your life, and I am supposed to believe that you have yet to bed a woman?"

Jaune felt his cheeks flush red. His reluctance to engage more frequently with the fairer sex had been the source of many a jape in the court, to his frustration. "A spouse will detract me from my duties, Your Majesty."

"Not even Contessa Belladonna?"

And just like that, the old man had reduced his stoic knight to a sputtering mess.

"Y-your Majesty, I…" Jaune tried to explain over His Majesty's fits of laughter. "Lady Blak- I mean, Contessa Belladonna and I are- we're not-"

"What fine taste in women, my boy!" his liege guffawed. "Did you think your advances were so subtle as to not catch my and the court's attention? I daresay even the lady spymaster herself has taken a liking to you!"

The poor knight wished his liege would grant him leave already. Then maybe he can ride on Nikephora to someplace far away, where His Majesty's laughter (and Lady Blake's vindictive little ravens) won't reach him.

"The Lombards are a fearsome people with feisty womenfolk, Jaune. And the Contessa is quite the example. I think you and she are a perfect match - you have my blessings, for all the good that will do."

Somehow his words reassured Jaune, his phlegmatic demeanor returning. "...Thank you for the vote of confidence, Your Majesty."

"'Tis the least this old man can do for you, boy." His idle, almost unfocused, gaze turned towards the other end of the room. "A man has to have some measure of peace in his life. Some find theirs through purpose and duty; others, through quiet reflection. Many more seek refuge in prayer and the Lord's embrace."

A sigh. "Now you know why Louie and the girls had to suffer their father's constant pestering for long."

"I am certain they appreciated your efforts in the end, Your Majesty."

"Hm. Perhaps."

Eyes fully closed, his liege grew silent. Had he fallen asleep? From the table, Jaune couldn't quite tell.

He decided to stay regardless. The sun had yet to set, and no other duties were asked of him before he was called to His Majesty's bedchamber. Now he shall attend to a knight's foremost duty: Protecting his liege lord from all threats.

A comfortable silence had settled, in the absence of the lively chatter from earlier. Far away from the bustle below, only birdsong and breathing provided ambience for Jaune and his slumbering liege. Here, in the four corners of this room seemingly sheltered from the ails of civilization, his liege, visage placid and serene, will spend his final days in rest.

The knight had to admit: There was no other place fitting for a great warrior such as His Majesty to breathe his last than here, with peace in his heart and family beside him.

Perhaps, he wistfully thought, he can meet the same fate. Resting as peacefully as his liege, in his humble abode, while a score of sons and daughters, and _their_ sons and daughters, surrounded him, all with midnight hair and eyes the color of the sky…

"Jaune."

A weak voice pierced through his daydreams, bringing him back to the world.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

Silence. Then-

"Do you think Saint Peter will open the pearly Gates for this old man?"

Jaune hesitated from replying, before finally answering, "If you wish, Your Majesty, I can head for the chapel and ask the Archbishop to anoint you posthaste."

"I didn't ask for the Archbishop, I asked for you. Besides," his liege added, "Tilpin was a better listener than that other old man with a fancy hat, anyway!"

"...No doubt, Your Majesty. You are a man of the faith, and have done much for Him and His holy church."

"Am I truly, Sir Jaunathane?" The sudden bitterness in his voice almost sent Jaune aback. "And what of the blood in my hands, the many transgressions I had committed in my long reign? Will God easily overlook them for the good that I have done, or will He cast me into the firey pits despite them?"

"The Lord preached that all who sin may be forgiven in time, Your Majesty."

"Can the murder of innocents by the thousands be so easily forgiven, I wonder…?"

Visibly unnerved, Jaune kept silent.

"As I figured," said his liege resignedly.

"...Your Majesty, might if someone can vouch for your entrance there?"

Jaune could hear him raise his eyebrows. "And who might that be?"

"Perhaps your father Pepin. Or your grandfather. Or even one of your departed knights."

"Hah!" he barked. "Father I can understand, and his father too. But Sir _Orlando_? He would likelier than not shove me to my doom himself, that lunatic!"

The knight sighed. Tales of the legendary knight _had_ spread from Hibernia to faraway Serica. He supposed his crazy antics could have easily spread twice as far.

"Your Majesty, surely Young Olly and the rest can keep his… impulses… in control. The Archbishop was saner than most the others, I recall."

"Only if that damnable convert did not engage the mitre-headed fop in a theological dispute upon my arrival. Do you not recall how they destroyed half my palace after an argument gone awry? Madness!"

Beads of sweat gathered on Jaune's head. In retrospect, the Peers might not have been the best for His Majesty's well-being. "Would such a debate even matter in Heaven?"

"Do you truly think such a trivial matter as an afterlife will stop them?"

To his shame, Jaune had no rebuttal. He was also worried, as by now His Majesty had started gesticulating his limbs in rage.

"Old Man Gérard, that woman and her Mohammedian toy- they were all shades of crazy. To think they will become my honor guard in Heaven… Why, perhaps Oggy would rear his ugly head and bash my skull with it!"

The knight kept himself from laughing at mention of the Dane's name. That witless pagan? In Heaven? "I would rather Holger drink himself to a second death with his forefathers in that tavern they call an afterlife, Your Majesty."

His liege suddenly had a violent laughing fit. "And here I thought you held no grudges, boy! Still sore about our Northern friend all this time?"

"The brute and I had too many differences to reconcile, Your Majesty."

"Is that so. Is that so…"

Blissful silence returned, this time warmer than the last. His Majesty's good cheer returned, for which Jaune was relieved. He had heard from a physician that a somber mood can mean the difference between life and death - moreso for an infirm old man such as his liege.

"I have a favor to ask of you, Jaune."

A favor? "Your wish is my command, Your Majesty."

A frail, shaky arm gestured to the direction of the window. "Look out. What do you see?"

Jaune rose from his seat to lean against the window. And he saw a great city that stretched in all four directions, with thousands upon teeming thousands of citizens going about their day. Cathedrals stood high above the clusters of buildings both wooden and stone, small testaments to the glory and might of His holy Church. Outside the city walls, fields of wheat, corn, rye, and other crops dotted the plains in haphazard fashion.

His heart soared in pride. The city of Aachen was but one product of His Majesty's blood, sweat and tears - many more he would find had he thoroughly searched the expanse between the Seine and the Rhine. "The legacy of your empire, Your Majesty."

"Indeed. And I fear it will not last a lifetime."

"How… How so, Your Majesty? Forgive me for doubting."

Countenance scrunched, perhaps in recollection, his liege said, "I have had… visions… recently. Of what will become of my realm long after I am gone.

"I saw three brothers cleave it in equal thirds, as Father had done with me and my brother. I saw a descendant forging a facsimile of my kingdom in the lands of the Teutons, seeking to improve upon my mistakes only to be put down like a wounded mongrel. I saw my realm slowly collapse into unruly warlords for centuries, even as invasions from the north and east brought death and ruin."

His features morphed into a proud smile. "Your kin did much to unite the Franks once more. A fierce young lady, hair as gilded as yours, wielding my grandfather's sword and holding aloft a great, flowery banner. From there our fortunes improved: Our numbers boomed into the millions, our ships plied the seven seas to trade and expand our reach, and our armies marched from victory to victory. Before long we were masters of this continent, as our people prospered and our enemies bowed in fear and respect."

Jaune could only gape in shock as his liege ended his tale. "And you trust these visions, Your Majesty?"

"With my life."

He stretched out a shaky hand, reaching at the knight. When Jaune hesitantly proffered his own, His Majesty grasped it firmly.

"See to it that my vision does not come to pass, Sir Jaunathane," he whispered. "This I entrust to you and yours. The d'Arcs are now all that stands between my legacy and its undoing."

His Majesty's faith was humbling… But Jaune paled at the magnitude of the task entrusted to him. What was a lone man and his supposed ilk to do against the onslaught of Time? The empire's foes can make many mistakes; he cannot afford to fail once. Jaune tried tampering his nerves, to no avail.

For the first time, Jaune considered declining the wishes of his liege.

"I am but a simple knight, Your Majesty," he replied. "Point me at your foe and I shall smite him down, but that is all I am able to do. This I am ashamed to say - but you will find me wanting in this task."

"Wrong," said his liege, undeterred. "You are no simple knight, Jaune. You are my Paladin. One of the greatest warriors in all of Christendom.

"For twenty years you have travelled by my side, performing deeds no mortal man can ever hope to replicate. Your sharp acumen had been the bane of armies from the Pyrenees to the steppes in the East. Your words swayed the hearts of all men, rich and poor, and your mere presence decided the fate of battles beyond counting. Many had offered you wealth, lands, and women which even I was hard-pressed to match, all to gain your fealty - and yet you turned every last offer away.

"An orphaned stable boy from Vermandois Jaunathane d'Arc may have been, but the hand I am holding belongs to nothing less than a legend. This, Jaune, is why I feel confident in entrusting the fate of my kingdom to you."

Hot liquid fell from the Paladin's cheeks. Keeping his breathing level had become a challenge. After all that, how can he ever refuse?

"I shall try, Your Majesty."

His liege smiled. "That is all I ask, my boy."

His hand's grip weakened, before letting go. "I need some time to speak with the Lord alone. You are dismissed, Jaune. God be with you."

"And He with you, Your Majesty," Jaune feebly replied.

He made for the doorway to leave, but not before glancing back one more time.

In a simple room, surrounded by candles, lay a bedridden old man. As the sun sank into the horizon, a ray of light passed through the window to bathe the resting man's face - and only his face - in a warm glory. Just like the saints he saw in the chapel.

Satisfied, he closed the heavy oaken door behind him.

Later, Sir Jaunathane d'Arc of the Twelve Peers would find out that, in that very moment seemingly frozen in time, Charlemagne, King of the Franks and Lombards, _Imperator Romanorum_, had made peace with God and entered His Kingdom.


End file.
